Shiver
by Valerie G.3
Summary: It was the very epitome of all needs, of what everyone already had, but did not appreciate what everyone wanted more of, but let waste when they did have it but, perhaps, this was just cause for its ironicness, for the mocking nature of which it held.
1. Three Months

Chapter One: Three Months

It had been three months since her body had been laid to rest, since all of his senses, even the supernatural ones, had been laid to rest with her.

He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't taste, he couldn't feel...

Well...

Not exactly, anyway.

The blue light of the computer screen drowned the office, but he didn't notice.

The only colors that registered in his mind were black and white. Not even gray had a place in his deadened soul.

He only wished that he could have had a chance to apologize, at least to say goodbye...

To say something more traditional before her death, something like "I Love You".

But all he did was yell at her.

The two had been fighting at the time, a long, hard fight; their friends and family had been saying that it would blow over soon enough, but rather, the opposite happened - the breeze that was suppsed to "blow the fight over" only proved to fan the flames even more.

He couldn't believe that the last thing he'd said to her was, "I can't believe how controlling you are, you're worse than my mother, you bi-"

But then, unexpectedly, her cell phone went dead.

He'd only gotten angrier at the time, thinking that she'd hung up on him. He laid down on their bed, staring up at the ceiling, scowling. He didn't care anymore.

That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.

About an hour later, he got the horrible call; the hospital had called and informed him that his wife had been in a serious car accident and had died.

Everything had been quiet after that night. Especially their daughter, who rarely spoke after hearing the news. She locked herself in her room, and if ever seen outside of the room, she would only mope around the house, walking silently and appearing almost out of nowhere, like a ghost.

He couldn't even remember what they had been fighting about.

Damn it, he couldn't even remember.

People, mostly friends, family, and colleagues, stopped by to pay their condolences. It didn't exactly help to see it all over the news, either.

He tapped his pencil on the desk rapidly, the pent up anger, anger directed toward himself, threatened to leak out.

He breathed deeply and stared at his notepad.

He wasn't going to think up anything tonight. Sure, he had plenty of ideas, he was thought of as a bona fide genius, but...

The memories were too strong, too saddening.

It had been three months since her body had been laid to rest, since all of his senses, even the supernatural ones, had been laid to rest with her.


	2. A Midwinter's Ghost

Chapter Two: A Midwinter's Ghost

He drove home silently, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

He groaned inwardly as the light turned red - he was trying to get home as soon as possible, not for himself, but for her. She needed him.

Finally the light turned green. He sped toward his home (though to him, it was an eternity), staying just on the speed limit so that he wouldn't be stopped by the police.

He pulled into the driveway, sighing as he saw a light flicker in the large, round, attic window. Turning off the engine, he stepped out into the icy blast of wind, though his body didn't even bother shivering.

Coughing slightly, he unlocked the front door and walked into the house, setting his jacket on the couch and making his way up the large staircase.

His expression saddened as he saw the door at the end of the hallway; the attic door.

He walked up to the large, heavy door, slowly swinging it open. His hopes of it being silent were shattered as the rusty hinges let out a loud groan, as if they didn't want to be opened.

Letting out a "hmph" of disappointment, he stepped into the doorway, frowning as icy cold air met him.

He began walking up the stairs, blessing the heavy layer of dust that silenced his footsteps.

Reaching the top of the staircase, he put his hands in his pockets, just watching hre as she sat, her knees pulled up to her chest. 

The picture was of her fifteenth birthday party, just a short six months before.

When her mother was alive.

Her mother stood on her right, grinning broadly, happy for her daughter. Her father stood at her left, looking slightly exhausted, but also happy - he'd been work on a huge Capsule Corps. projet at the time.

She held the picture in her hands and stared at it, as though in hopes that if she watched it long enough, her mother would come back to life and step out of it, ready to embrace her.

But that wasn't going to happen.

She wasn't coming back.

Ever.

A tear rolled down her cheek and landed on the picture, just below her mother's face. It rolled down and met her thumb as she held the picture more tightly, as though afraid of letting it go.

She was only barely aware of her father's presence in the cold, dusty attic - part of her wanted him to come and comfort her, to make her feel better - but the other part of her was angry at him. It was his fault that she was gone.

She sat on the splintered wooden floor, only in a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt that was so big that it'd probably never fit her well. Her skin probably felt the cold; goosebumps would show up from time to time when her body failed to warm itself up. But she didn't fell a thing.

She finally dared to take her eyes off of the picture to look out of the large, circular window. It was about six feet in diameter and it easily touched both the floor and the ceiling. She looked down at the front lawn, at the thin layer of snow that covered the green/brown grass. She suddenly inhaled sharply through her nose and put her hand on the old window as she saw the movement down below.

Climbing onto her knees and getting as close to the window as she could, she peered down and suddenly smiled as the woman looked up at her. The woman waved happily at her, a loving smile on her face.

"Hi, mommy," she whispred, waving back at the woman, wishing that she could go down and meet her.

The woman waved at her, then trotted off, her long, black hair whipping about behind her.

Pan sat there for a moment, not knowing whether she was happy for the visit or if she wanted to cry. She sat back and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on one knee.

She raised one hand to look at the picture again, looking at the woman who had stood beside her.

'I miss you, mommy.'


	3. Stupid

Chapter Three: Stupid

She was used to the whispers by now.

It didn't matter.

Who cared what these people thought?

They knew, they had it in their minds, they just didn't care to think of that possibility. 

They were just stupid, that was all.

'Stupid.'

The rumors had started right after her mother had died - at first, it was her grades.

"She was such a good student," the teachers would say, a sad look on their faces. "I wonder what's gotten into her."

'You know whats wrong with me,' Pan would think whenever they would say something like that. 'What are you, brain-dead?'

After the grades, it was her appearance. She would come to school wearing the same clothes for days at a time. Her usual dark colored nail polish (usually blue, green, brown, or black) would begin to chip, and she would never bother to fix it. What was the point?

"I think she's anorexic," came a whisper from a blonde that Pan had never liked. She was at the head of all the rumors. "She's lost a lot of weight..."

The only thing was, it was the truth - since she'd found out about her mother, she scarcely ever ate, not really having an appetite.

She wanted her mother's cooking back.

Other students, though, would try and defend her.

"She's not anorexic," her friend Tina would say. "Her mom's just died. It's been all over the news, haven't you seen it? She's depressed. Fuck off."

Pan apprecited the gesture; she just didn't show it too well. She tried to stay away from anyone she used to know. She just didn't want to talk about it. All they would do was force her to deal with it, force her to feel bad, force her to cry.

The whispers stopped as soon as the math teacher, Mrs. Hitachi, walked into the room. 

"Hello, children!" said the white-haired woman, smiling.

Her expression suddenly turned tragic as she loooked up to see Pan sitting at her desk, staring down at her math book. 

"Miss Son," she said, her voice annoyingly full of sympathy, "are you alright?"

Pan didn't respond to the question, only sat and playing with her thumbs.

"Miss Son?"

Pan looked up suddenly and then looked back down at her book, nodding quickly.

"Oh, that's good,"said Mirs. Hitachi, smiling sadly.

It was suddenly as if everyone had expected her to go back to her normal life as if nothing had happened.

It was ridiculous. 

Pan trugged slowly into the house, staring down at the floor. Throwing her book-bag carelessly onto the table, she cringed as the sound of breaking glass met her ears. She hadn't even been aware of the glass cup that had been the target of the flying bag.

Frowning deeply, she walked around the table and began picking the broken glass up, her face blank. She frowned even more deeply this time as a tiny sliver of glass slipped into her palm. She slowly lifted her hand and looked at her palm, where a large amount of blood had already managed to escape around the glass.

Letting out a quiet, uncaring "hmph", she lifted the rest of the large pieces of glass and dumped them into the trash can, then grabbed the broom and dust-pan to retrieve the smaller pieces, barely noticing the numbing pain in her right palm. 

She knelt down and began sweeping the glass into the dust-pan when the phone suddenly began rining. Pan reacted slowly, looking up at the phone where it hung on the wall beside the kitchen door.

Ignoring the loud 'BRIIIINNNNNGGGG!" of the phone, Pan swallowed and walked over to the trash can and tipped the dustpan over, watching the glass as it fell into the black, plastic bag like a crystalized waterfall.

Finally the phone stopped ringing, much to Pan's relief - She didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Walking over to the kitchen door, she stopped before the phone and pressed the down button on the Caller ID.

Capsule Corps. Off - x.7450

'Capsule Corporation Office Building,' thought Pan, blinking. The extension was 7450.

It had been her father calling.

Blinking and pressing the delete button, she turned and headed toward the stairs, up to her bedroom, her sanctuary.

Slamming the door behind her, she walked around her bed and walked into the closet, turning and closing the creaky door behind her. She walked to the very back of the large closet, where a red bean-bag chair was awaiting her.

Dropping herself heavily into the chair, she sighed and closed her eyes.

She cherished the silence and the darkness of the closet... at least there weren't stupid, stupid people around to judge her and make her fell worse.

'Stupid.'

She sat in the silence of the dark closet, contemplating all realizations recently obtained. She knew somewhere in a deep crevace of her mind that nothing new, nothing useful would come from it, no sudden enlightenment would dawn upon her, but she wanted to think about it.

She always tried to inquire of her own mind a reason, a motivation for this proclivity to create such a darkness inward of herself, but the mystery remained, as some occult part of her being that wished not to be opened to thought.

It seemed that the very new subject of her thoughts had become her most recent enemy.

This nemesis, however, was impossible to escape; it was all around her, it permeated the very air she inhaled, it infringed upon everything she did; but even worse, it was the very essence that was giving her the power, the ability, to do these things.

Without it, nothing would be possible.

It was the very epitome of all needs, of what everyone already had, but did not appreciate; what everyone wanted more of, but let waste when they did have it; but, perhaps, this was just cause for its ironicness, for the mocking nature of which it held.

"I am here, but you do not appreciate me. I can leave at any moment, yet you regret when I do. Some want me to leave, force me to, for they find me too harsh to bear; while others grasp what I give them, what I give them the power to do, trying to fulfill me, so that when I do leave them, they are glad that they did not let me waste.

"At times I am formidable, forcing those who don't appreciate me to face what is real; while those who do appreciate me are happy to have me, welcome to have more of me. But I am not formidable at all - for I let those who have me do as they wish with me, whether they appreciate me or not, under the one condition that I am with them once and only once."

It was her nemesis that spoke these words to her, to all, though some didn't hear it as clearly as others, though this nemesis had no lips to speak; it was comlpetely amorphous, had no shape, no color, no sound, it held no quality comprehensible to the senses; and yet, it was everywhere, for all to see, hear, taste, feel, and smell, everywhere she went, even her dreams.

Pan lifted her palm and began picking at the piece of glass, which now only barely surfaced above skin beneath the now drying blood.

She frowned as the glass slipped even further in; now it was hopeless to get it out manually.

Sighing, she got up as the phone began ringing again.

Opening the closet door, she walked out and dropped herself onto her bed, staring at the Caller ID.

It was her father again.

Frowning as she stared at her bloody palm, she picked up and brought the phone to her ear, not even bothering to say "Hello."

"...Pan?"

"What?"

Gohan sighed. She was still upset with him.

"...Bulma invited us over to her house tonight. Do you want to go?"

"Fine."

Gohan sighed again.

"Alright. I'll be home to pick you up in about two hours."

Silence.

"Goodbye, sweetie."

Gohan closed his eyes as she hung up, completely silent.

Alright, this had to be the suckiest chapter in the history of chapters. But please review and tell me what u think! Just a note, though - A lot of people forget the true element of anime, which is that it is so weird. Yes, the story will be realistic, but at the same time, DBZ - as in, there'll be talking animals, people with rainbow-colored hair, and gophers wearing sunglasses. I'll try to come out w/ the next chapter ASAP. Ciao! XOXO


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